


Hot Blooded

by kisahawklin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, M/M, Sappy, Temperature Play, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney each do a little training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to silverraven for a quick lookover and beta. This is for my temperature play square on my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Mostly, it's sappy.

"I'm not sure I like the thought of being your guinea pig," John said. 

"Ha ha," Rodney grumbled, not mentioning that he didn't like the idea of John being a guinea pig at all. "You could avoid it if you'd just stay out of the water like a good commanding officer."

"We've been through this," John answered, elbowing Rodney hard enough to bruise as he got into his wetsuit. Rodney stepped back a bit but continued to hover. The wetsuit was so thin – how was that supposed to keep John from becoming an ice cube in the cold ocean water?

Rodney shrugged, not wanting to start up the argument again. John was always going to be one of those leaders who never asked his people to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. Rodney could only hope he would retire before the sentiment got him killed.

"Whatever," Rodney said, determined to stick to his no-arguing-before-near-death-situations rule. He'd regretted his last words to John more than a few times and agonized over them until John came back. He was going to make sure it never happened again – as lucky as John was, one of these times he _wasn't_ going to come back. "Please be only mildly hypothermic when you get back. I promise to treat you as if you were moderately hypothermic. Scout's honor."

John grinned at him then, zipping up the wetsuit. "Aw, you're going to put hot water bottles in my groin and armpits? It's must be true love."

Rodney rolled his eyes. He'd signed up to take the field medic course the minute Dr. Meyer mentioned it and John liked to read the manual over his shoulder at night. "And get you naked, dress you in warm clothes, and put a hat over that stupid hair of yours, yes. I might even make you drink something warm and awful-tasting. Maybe I'll have Teyla brew some tea."

John made a face and stuck out his tongue. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

John put his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "It'll be fine," he said, squeezing when he searched Rodney's face and apparently didn't like what he saw there. "Really. We'll have a medic with us down there – no one is going to get lower than 93° – I promise."

Rodney nodded, leaning in and letting his head drop so his forehead rested on John's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Okay," John said, and even though Rodney could hear the amusement in John's voice, he couldn't help worrying.

Three hours later, as Rodney waited for John and the twelve men he was training with to climb out of the water, he checked and rechecked his kit. Soft, absorbent towels, check. Warm, comfortable clothes, check. Thermos of vegetable soup, check. He'd been tempted to have Teyla make tuttle root soup, but he couldn't stand it when John was in pain, and punishing him when he would already be uncomfortable seemed too mean. He could accept a dinner invitation from Teyla when John was at full capacity – it'd be more satisfying then anyway.

"Come on," Rodney muttered, pacing the small space from one end of the locker room to the other. 

"Will you sit down already?" Parrish complained. "You're making _me_ nervous and I'm not even worried about them. Don't you have work you can pretend to be doing?"

Rodney snorted, but sat down in the middle of his supplies with his laptop, staring at the energy output report Radek had sent that morning without really seeing it. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but when Parrish yelled, "Hey, here they come!", Rodney blinked like he was coming out of a trance. He closed the laptop and set it in one of the lockers as he watched the men and women start climbing out of the water and going to their respective team medics-in-training. Parrish took Lorne's arm, guiding him over to the bit of bench where his supplies were stacked up. Rodriguez manhandled Miller, Gupta contorted herself to fit under Sandoval's arm, and Garcia didn't even have to do anything but crook a finger at Guzman, who waddled over to him in her ill-fitting suit. Apparently there weren't any small enough to properly fit her. She didn't look any worse for wear, though, so some of Rodney's tension left him in a rush. 

Four more soldiers climbed out and started their warming before Rodney started to worry. They were popping up in ones and twos, all looking relatively okay, if a little dazed. Finally they were all out of the water except John and Greenberg, the medic. Rodney started his freakout in earnest then, looking around to see if any of the trainees were big enough that he could fit in their wetsuits. Lorne, maybe, though he was a little short.

"Cool it, doc," Lorne said from where Parrish had him wrapped up like a burrito. "The colonel just wanted to do a sweep to make sure no one was left down there."

"What, he was so addled that he couldn't _count_?" Rodney retorted, but before Lorne could snap back, two more heads popped up in the little round pool that served as a gateway to the underbelly of the city. John was smiling like an idiot, clapping Greenberg on the back and swimming awkwardly to the edge of the pool. "You did that on purpose," Rodney said. "You _want_ me to drop dead of a heart attack."

Greenberg hauled herself up out of the pool. "He's fine, McKay. His last temp was 95."

"Yeah," John said, taking his first step and leaning dangerously to the left. Rodney grabbed him and got him upright again. 

"We'll see about that," Rodney said, guiding John to his spot on the bench. Lorne was wrapped up tight on his left, Parrish sitting across from him on one of the back-breaking plastic chairs, and Miller was on his right, stepping into his dry clothes as Rodriguez kicked his wetsuit out of the way so she could towel-dry his hair.

Rodney unzipped the wetsuit, shoving John's hands out of the way as he ineffectually tried to pluck it off his slick skin. "That's my job," Rodney said, sticking the thermometer in John's mouth to stave off any complaints. He slid his hand over John's shoulder and under the wetsuit, relieved that John's skin only felt cool to the touch, not cold. 

He peeled John out of the suit, baring his skin to the whole room, making sure not to linger or to stare. He knew all of John's skin intimately anyway; he'd checked that John was unharmed as he removed the suit. Still, he couldn't help the tenderness that crept in as he dried John off. He wrapped a towel around John's hips and put another across his shoulders, letting John try to rub a little warmth into his limbs as he took a towel to John's hair. 

"Easy, Rodney," John said, the humor in his voice touched with fondness. "I'd like to keep a little of my hair."

"Serves you right," Rodney said, but stopped assaulting John's hair with the towel and slid the knitted hat on.

"That's adorable," Lorne teased, and John groaned.

"Rodney," he pleaded. 

"Keep your mouth shut, colonel, or I'll never get an accurate reading." Rodney pulled the thermometer out of John's mouth, pushed the reset button, and shoved it back in. John raised an eyebrow at him, but kept his mouth shut.

Rodney wrapped a cashmere scarf around John's neck and tied it in a loose knot, smiling smugly as he heard Rodriguez snickering next to him. That got him an eyeroll from John, but John's hand came up almost automatically and petted the scarf. Rodney finally felt like he could breathe. He took the towel off John's shoulders and dried him off, patting him down instead of rubbing. John was only mildly hypothermic, so rubbing wouldn't hurt, but he was practicing his own skills, and they were supposed to treat their patients as if they were moderately hypothermic. The thermometer beeped – John's temperature was only 94 – and Rodney took it out of his mouth and set it aside.

John had gone still as Rodney dried him off, and the snickering and whispered jokes had quieted, too. Rodney registered the silence along with a number of other things, but getting John warm was his focus now, and there was nothing that could drag Rodney's concentration away when he set his mind to something. 

He pulled a soft fleece over John's head, smoothing it down against John's skin before sitting him down and kneeling in front of him. He took John's right foot and rested it on his thigh as he dried it off, dragging the towel up John's calf and over his knee, pushing up the towel covering John's bottom half as he dried John's thigh. He switched to the other leg, going back after drying the skin to pat the thick leg hair down, like brushing down the coat of a cat whose fur has been ruffled. 

"Rodney," John whispered, and Rodney shook his head a little before looking up at John, who was suddenly looking down at him with a mixture of heat and discomfort. Lorne and Parrish had snuck out, Rodney noted as he looked to his left, and Rodriguez was desperately signaling Greenberg to check over her work.

"Fine," Greenberg said, not even bothering to do more than look Miller up and down, "get out of here. And hurry up, McKay." She turned back to Guzman, sticking a thermometer in her ear.

Rodney put the towel he'd been using on the floor and pulled John's pants off the bench, holding open the waistband for him to step into them. John looked like he wanted to complain but he held his silence, stepping into the pants and standing stiffly as Rodney brought the waistband up John's calves. 

"Rodney," John murmured as Rodney pulled the pants over his thighs, and Rodney finally stopped as he realized John was hard. "I understand if this is punishment for making you worry, but could we _please_ get out of here before this gets any more embarrassing?"

"Oh," Rodney said, letting go and allowing John to pull the pants up the rest of the way, letting the towel fall from around his waist. 

"Yeah, _oh_ ," John said, his good mood gone, replaced with the exasperation that Rodney knew was a mix of frustration and resignation that only ever seemed to apply to team members and Lorne. He started pulling off the fleece, and Rodney put his hands on the hem, trying to keep it down.

"Hey! Leave that on! We need to get your temperature back up –"

"Rodney," John growled. "I'm too warm for a fleece, okay?" He yanked it off and tied it around his waist, going for the hat and scarf next.

"But –"

"Go on," Greenberg said, waving an arm in their direction without even turning around. "I can feel the body heat the colonel's putting off from here."

"See?" John asked, slipping on a pair of flip-flops he pulled out of his locker. "Can we just go now? I think I need a cold shower."

Rodney picked up the thermos of vegetable broth as they headed out of the locker room. "Are you sure you don't need some warm liquids? I had Teyla make this just for you."

John shook his head. "You do understand that I will get you back for this, right?"

Rodney grinned. "You know, I could massage some warmth into your extremities. I'm sure you could use a little external rewarming."

John knocked his shoulder into Rodney's. "I'll show you external rewarming," he said, laughing as he shoved Rodney out into the corridor.


End file.
